Fatal Silence
by rosemoon1999
Summary: Four years after his Papa died, Matthew Williams is struggling to deal with the school bully Carlos and an abusive, rapist uncle, Lars Bonnefoy. (Not the Netherlands!) When Carlos and his Uncle push him too far, will he finally let Gilbert and Ziayre Beilshmitd help him, or will he remain fatally silent?
1. A near-diaster

**DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANYTHING HETALIA-RELATED! **

* * *

_**SLAP!**_

"Look at me when I am talking to you!" _He_ roared, standing above me. I dug my well-chewed, ragged nails into the tan carpet I had vacuumed earlier, clenching my teeth to keep from screaming. My cheek was on fire from where _he_ had slapped me, but I would not let him know _he_ had hurt me by screaming.

"I'm sorry." I replied in a monotone, keeping my violet eyes down.

"What?" _He_ said, putting a hand to his ear like a deaf person would. I took a shuddery breath inward. I knew what game _he_ was playing. _He_ was going to make it seem like this was my fault.

"I said I'm sorry." I repeated, fixating my eyes on a scar I had on my left hand. I had got it when _he_ was going through a smoking phase, and had burned me with a cigarette for 'being too damn loud!'

Ever since then, I made sure to speak just under a whisper.

"And what exactly are you sorry for, Matthew?" _He_ said, spitting out my name.

"I am sorry for not looking at you when I spoke." I stated, emotionless._ He_ shifted his weight, making the floorboards scream under his weight. _He_ wasn't fat, but he had a heavy step, something I knew from painful personal experience.

I braced myself, knowing what was next.

_**WHAM!**_

This time, I was unable to stifle the scream.

He had kicked me in the ribs, right where he had for the past 4 years. Ever since my Papa, Francis Bonnefoy, died, I had been sent to live with my uncle, whom was now towering above me.

His name is Lars Bonnefoy. **(NOTE: This is an OC, **_**not**_** the Netherlands! Got it?)**

"Shut up!" He said, delivering the next fearsome kick to my arm. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth against the pain, thanking whatever god there is that I had not fallen over. If I had...

"I think you need a time-out." Growled Lars, voice low and threatening. My eyes snapped open and I stared at the floor in panic. No, not a time-out! Please!

"Get up, boy!" he snarled, grabbing hold of my ear with his nails. I rose with him, clenching my teeth against the feeling and hoping my ear wasn't bleeding. That almost always made him fly into a rage, when I bled and he didn't want me to.

"Get in the chair!" He said, dragging me through the house and into the basement to the back room, where the chair stood in all its mahogany glory. He shoved me down by the hips and kicked my shin, which instantly turned red.

"Stay there, boy. Move and it'll be worse!" He said warningly, striding over to a silver box in the corner. I stared straight ahead and froze every muscle in my body. I knew that he would make good on his threat of things being worse if I moved.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he opened the Box of Horrors, anxious and scared for what was to come.

_The crop._

He was frustrated tonight and wanted somebody else to suffer.

_First one, then two pairs of handcuffs. _

He wanted total dominance tonight.

He lifted the ball gag, hesitated, then replaced it.

He wanted to hear my screams.

And finally, he withdrew a video camera and stand.

He wanted to record this session, so he could force me to watch it whenever I was getting 'too damn cocky.'

He gathered the items and strode toward me, speaking in a foreign language. It wasn't the smooth, sweet French Papa had taught me when I was little, but neither was it English, which had also been taught to me via my old neighbour Arthur and his adopted son, Alfred. I watched as he set up the camera on a tripod and hit Record.

"Put these on each hand, and cuff yourself to the chair!" Commanded Lars, throwing the handcuffs at me. I flinched as they hit my chest, but I wouldn't even dream of daring to catch them. Not after the last time I had.

I did as he ordered, hating myself and him for this all. The cuffs sat heavily on my wrists, the metal glinting in the dim light. These cuffs weren't dinky dime-store plastic, but were a real steel alloy. Lars had brought them home one night from his job as a policeman.

Lars smiled, licking his lips. "Now, we can have some fun." He said, sliding the crop into his belt. He advanced toward me slowly, flexing his fingers. I stared at the wooden floor, concentrating on its patterns instead of the racing, crippling terror I felt.

He reached a hand toward my face, slowly tracing my jawline with a fingernail. "We're gonna have so much fun tonight." He whispered seductively. "I've been waiting just for you all day, my little slut." His fingernail, which had been just a whisper on my face, suddenly stabbed into my cheek.

"Let's hear it, Matthew. Say you want me."

I remained silent, bile rising in my throat. This was disgusting and wrong.

"Say it." He repeated, more forceful. He forced my head toward him, gripping my chin with his fingernails. I stared at his nose, wishing he would die.

He didn't.

Instead, he slammed my head against the chairs' back, commanding me to obey him. I closed my eyes against the tears, and said quietly that I wanted him.

"Louder, slut!" He yelled, digging his nails deeper into my face. "Say you want my dick! Say you want my cum in your ass, like the low-life whore you are! SAY IT!"

I took a deep, shuddery breath. Do it, I told myself. Do it so he will leave.

"I want your dick in me, and I want your cum in my ass."

He licked his lips and smiled coldly. "That's what I like to hear."

He lunged forward, forcing his face onto mine. His tongue snaked past my lips and shoved my tongue to the side, thrashing wildly. He gripped my hair with one hand, keeping my mouth where it was.

His other hand went up my shirt and straight to my chest, where it searched for my nipple. Once it found its target it twisted, forcing a slight whimper out of me. Lars sucked my lower lip into his mouth and bit it sharply, reprimanding me for breaking one of his rules. He twisted again, but this time I kept silent.

Then, he did something totally new: He took my tongue into his mouth and sucked on it.

I shuddered, feeling more violated than I had in a while.

His hand left my nipple and reemerged at my shirt collar, where he tugged down the shirt zipper. Lars made all my shirts zip-up, for this reason.

With the garment out of the way, he bent over my chest and licked my collarbone, leaving a wet, cold trail. He licked his way to my nipple, and when he got to it he spat. The heat of his spit clashed with the cold room air, and I shivered. He took this as a good thing.  
"You like that, my little slutty bitch? You like being spat on? God, you're even more of a whore tonight than I thought!"

He spat on my chest again and again, covering my ribs in saliva. I closed my eyes, focusing on remaining silent while I inwardly screamed.

Lars cupped one hand on my privates and made a circle with his thumb, leering at me.

"Moan for me, bitch!" He commanded, pinching. I opened my mouth and obediently let out a soft moan. Adam brought up a hand and slapped my face. "Louder! Moan like a slut!"

I opened up and moaned louder, voice nearly cracking in the middle. I heard a zipper going down, and quit.

"God, you're so sexy when you submit!" Lars groaned, freeing his erection. I eyed it fearfully, knowing its exact length (8 inches) and width (2 1/2 inches) from when he had forced me to measure it. That was a long, long time ago, around the first time he had raped me.

Lars pried my jaw down, and brought his dick close to my open mouth. "Keep it open." He commanded, gripping my hair. I shut my eyes as tight as they could, knowing what was next.

He brutally rammed his cock into my mouth and down my throat, then pulled away. He continued pumping his shaft into my mouth, using it like he would later use my ass. I focused on not gagging, but it was hard. The feeling of his dick sliding down my throat at a frenzied rate alone made me want to scream.

Finally, he pulled completely out, panting. "God Matthew, you're such a slut! Giving your throat to me as a toy, whenever I want it. It's despicable!" He snarled.

Lars got down on his knees and tugged down my zipper, tsking disappointedly. "For all your whoring actions, I would've expected better from you. Well, that's too bad for you. Less pleasure to satisfy your sluttish needs." Lars said in a mock-depressed voice. He stood, taking a few steps back to take in what I looked like. My cheeks burned with shame, and I could feel his spit hardening in a film on my chest. My jaws ached, and I could taste blood. My hair was certainly in disarray.

All the while he just stared, drinking in the sight.

"Whore!" He said, snapping his fingers. I looked up, to his amusement. "Know what time it is?" He said, keeping his voice low. I nodded, the tips of my fingers curling around the chair's arm.

"It's your favourite time: Fucking." I stated, a false smile tugging my lips in a smile. He liked to think that I enjoyed this 'time.'

"That's right, Matthew."

He walked slowly forward, eyes travelling all over my body, pausing between my legs. He took the keys to the cuffs out of his pocket and undid them with a soft _click!_

"Stand up!" He commanded. I did so, nearly falling over from a rush of vertigo. He stood in front of me, waiting. I kept my eyes down, bracing myself.

In one fluid movement, Lars grabbed both my wrists and got one hand down my pants. "Struggle, slut!" He hissed in my ear.

I began twisting around frantically, trying desperately to break his hold on my wrists. He tightened his grip, smirking maliciously. I jumped, shocked, as one finger from his opposite hand found my entrance and pushed in. His finger was, surprisingly, coated in lube. He must have slicked up while I wasn't looking.

"You're tight tonight!" He groaned, wiggling that finger. I kicked out as hard as I could, catching him in the shin. That knocked his finger right out of me and loosened his grip. In one twist I broke free and ran for the door.

I heard his deep, throaty laughter just before he tackled me to the ground, the door feet away. I smashed my chin against the hard floor; I groaned in pain.

"Groaning already, whore?" sneered Lars, crawling on top of me. He straddled my hips, pulling my pants and boxers down. He slipped one finger back in my entrance and slowly began sliding it in and out, mimicking his cock. I buried my face in my arms, shame flooding through me like a tidal wave.

He added a second finger and pumped faster. I bit my hand against the pain, squeezing my eyes shut. Blackness fell over the world, but the pain was still there, agonizingly real.

"Look at me, bitch!" Commanded Lars, still pumping away. I opened my eyes and looked.

He sat on my thighs, shirt still on and only his zipper down. His cock was throbbing, only inches away from my hole.

"On your hands and knees! Now!" He commanded, getting off my legs. I did so, a heavy feeling in my stomach.

Just as I got into position, my saviour came-

The doorbell.

Adam groaned in disappointment, releasing me. "COME IN!" He shouted, standing up. I kept still, knowing if I got up there'd be hell to pay.

Adam bent down next to me, whispering "My friends are here. I'll be right back. Maybe they'll want a piece of you. After all, it's nice to share and you _love_ to play with my friends."

I began to tremble, memories of searing agony, bruises, fists, blood, and other horrors rushing in from the last time his friends had 'played' with me.

He righted himself and zipped his pants, smirking down at me. When he left, I curled myself into a ball and bit my hand again, holding the sobs at bay. Please, I prayed to whoever was listening, don't have him come back with his friends. Please.

What seemed like an eternity later, Lars came back into the room. "Bad news, slut." He said in a mock-sympathetic voice. "They don't want to play tonight. But later, we still can. For now, get to your room and don't come out." He commanded, snapping his fingers at the door. I scrambled up, desperate to get away from him.

"Move your ass!" Lars yelled, slapping me. I did, sprinting out of that damn room and into mine, ignoring his friends' wolf-whistles as I ran by.

I collapsed onto my mattress, suppressing the sobs that threatened to tear me apart by sheer willpower alone. With shaking hands, I dug my most prized possession out from a hole in the wall- a cell phone. I powered it on, pulling a shirt, boxers, and pants from my dresser.

When it was on, I opened the message center and typed a message:

_I need to come over. Now._

Taking a deep, shaky breath I sent it to the only number I had. The reply came seconds later.

**Of course, Birdie. But why do you always come over? You never tell me.**

And I never will, I said in my head. I nodded to myself and shut the phone off, slipping it back into the wall. I got dressed and opened my window, breathing in the night air. As always, the realization came to me- _I could escape right now, and he would never find me._

And as always, two things kept me here-

I had a chip in the palm of my hand. It tracked me wherever I went, meaning Lars would eventually find me.

Gilbert Beilshmitd, my next-door neighbour and the only number in my phone.

I slipped out the window, silent as the shadows I had learned to hide in. I landed on the lawn and took off, dashing for the safety Gilbert's house would bring.

He already had his window open and was waving to me, a cocky grin on his pale face.

"Hey, Birdie." He said when I reached his window. He grabbed my arms and hauled me in and onto his bed, (Which was below the window) taking in my appearance. The grin melted off his face, replaced with concern.

"Matthew," He began, hesitant. I shook my head, a lump growing in my throat. My nails bit into my palms as the urge to tell him came over me in a wave, as it always did. Gilbert noticed, like he always did, and didn't push the topic.

"Could I use your shower?" I asked, eyes on his bedspread, which depicted the Prussian flag. Gil was PROUD of his Prussian heritage, like I was PROUD of my Canadian roots.

Gil laughed, a warm "Kesese~" of a sound which I had grown to love. "Sure, Birdie. You know where it is. Take your time." He said, false carelessness and cheer in his loud voice. I knew it killed him that I didn't tell exactly _why _I used his showers, came over in the night, or cried on his shoulder.

But I couldn't.

"Thanks." I said, getting off the bed. I padded down the hall and into the bathroom, not worried about his parents. His dad had abandoned them and his mom, a tall, beautiful, albino woman with hair that cascaded down her back in a great, silver waterfall and daring, fiery crimson eyes that reflected her wild spirit, liked me.

Gilbert Beilshmitd and Ziayre Beilshmitd were cut from the same cloth, that's for sure. Looking at them, they seemed more like brother and sister than mother and son. I'd known them both even since I had come to live with Lars. Ziayre was the only one who knew the dark secret I kept, and only because she was a master at getting others to reveal what they didn't want revealed.

Maybe that's why she makes such a great Head Officer of the very police station Lars works at.

Talk about ironic.

I undressed and turned on the water, letting the night's events finally hit me. I stepped in the stream of water, and spent my shower scrubbing the spit off my chest and the tears from my eyes.


	2. Safe with his family

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ANYTHING HETALIA-RELATED!**

But, I do lay claim to the OC Ziayre Beilshmitd.

* * *

When I came out of the bathroom, Ziayre was waiting for me. "Hey kid." she said, grinning. The tips of her teeth shone in the hall light, and her eyes gleamed with more than reflected light. I smiled shyly at her. "Hello." I responded, slightly self-conscious. Ziayre laughed, a true 'Kesesesese~' of a laugh, just like her only son's.

"Come on, I've just finished supper. Gil's already there, and if you don't hurry he'll eat everything, even your chair!" she said in a mock-serious voice. I looked down at the floor, allowing a small smile to cross my face. "Thank you, Ms. Beilshmitd." I waled forward, but Ziayre stopped me. She gently cupped my chin with her long, elegant fingers, tipping my face upward.

"Child," She murmured, "When will this stop? When will you allow me to help you? One call, Matthew. One call to the State is all it would take for this nightmare to end."

_"__He_"- Ziayre spat out the word like it was poison- "would go to prison for life, with no chance of bail or time off. I looked up what a crime like this would be penalized as, and trust me Matthew. His life would become miserable. Solitary confinement until he dies of old age, two disgusting state-approved meals per day, no chance of being free..."

She trailed off, sighing. "Child, I'm worried about you. Lars is a monstrosity of a human. What you're going through is not easy, nor is it necessary."

I looked up at her, guilt wrenching at my heart. "It's not that simple." I said quietly, and it isn't. If I did let Ziayre tell the State, even anonymously, I wouldn't ever be able to sleep again. I would forever be looking over my shoulder, fearing and waiting to one day see Lars' black eyes gleaming with anger and twisted glee. He would then find Ziayre, and kill her. That's the sort of rotten man he is.

Not to mention that I would go into foster care, which means I would never see Ziayre's starry hair or blood-red eyes, laugh at her jokes, listen to her and Gilbert go back and forth endlessly with their trials of wit, never again sit at their dinner table and savour her amazing cooking, or ever have a place on their couch while we watched movies and ate popcorn. Ziayre was the mother I never had.

And Gilbert. I could _never_ leave him, even if it meant dealing with Lars for the rest of my life. Why?

Because I'm in love with him.

How could you not be?

Ziayre nodded like she had expected that. She released my face and drew me into a gentle hug, saying "I understand, dear heart."

She held me for a few seconds more before releasing me. She gave me one last small smile, a true smile, before spinning on her heel and racing down the hallway, yelling "GILBERT BEILSHMITD, THERE BETTER BE FOOD LEFT ON THAT TABLE!"

I laughed and ran after her, forgetting (for the moment) all about Lars.

When we got to the table, Gilbert wasn't devouring everything in sight, instead reading something I couldn't see. Ziayre stopped short and gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"Are you sick?" She asked, eyes wide in feigned shock. Gil looked up, his eyes bright and excited. "Nein, Mom. I got a letter from Ludwig."

Ziayre sprang to his side. "What's it say? Tell me tell me _tell me_ **TELL ME**!" She said in a rush, trying to grab it from him. Gil held it away, searching for a place to throw it. His gaze landed on me. "Birdie! Catch!" He said, and threw the letter, envelope and all.

I caught it and took off, laughing. This ALWAYS happened whenever Gil's brother, Ludwig, wrote. Ludwig lived in Germany with their grandfather. He had the choice to come to America with Ziayre, Gil, and their father (Before he took off) but declined it, choosing to stay because of school and his boyfriend, Feliciano Vargas. Once, he and Feliciano came to visit. I still remember Ludwig's ice-blue eyes and serious, no-nonsense demeanour, so different from his mother and brother's.

And Feliciano... I'm not sure what to make of the bubbly, pasta-loving brunet. He seemed so, I don't know, OPPOSITE of Ludwig. Maybe that's why they were together.

I ran into Gil's room and locked the door, mere seconds ahead of Ziayre. She pounded on the door, calling "Matthew Williams, you open this door right now!"

Williams was my mother's maiden name. I took her last name instead of Papa's because Bonnefoy is also Lars' last name.

I laughed. "Sorry, Ziayre. You can have this." I slid the envelope under the door. She snorted and slid it back to me. "Funny, Matthew. Real funny."

A tapping sound on the window distracted me. I turned, knowing who it was but calling out "Who is it?"

"Birdie, let me in! It's cold out here!" Called Gilbert from where he was crouching on the windowsill. I went to the window and just stood there, staring at him. He pounded the window, making puppy eyes at me. I raised an eyebrow. He rolled out his lip, pouting. I rolled my violet eyes in defeat and opened the window, helping my crazy friend in as he had with me.

He gave me an exaggerated bow, saying "Thank you, sir. Now, shall we stop taunting a certain Miss Beilshmitd and let her read this letter from her youngest son?"

A voice from behind the door shouted "Yes!" I nodded in agreement. "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."

"Tell him, Matthew!" cheered Ziayre. Gil pouted again. "You two are no fun."

He opened the door and Ziayre sprinted in like there was a monster behind her. She leaped onto the bed, patting the blanket beside her. I shook my head slightly, amused. Ziayre was such a little kid, just like her son. But that's what made both of them fun.

I sat on her right and Gil sat on her left, to my disappointment. Sometimes, he would sit beside me and let me lean on him while Ziayre read the letter to us.

We got comfortable, waiting for Ziayre to begin. When she did, it was with a voice deeper than her normal one, one more suited to telling bedtime stories than reading a letter out loud.

_Dear Mutti, Gilbert, and Matthew, _she began. (She added the last part on. Ludwig never remembers me.)

_A few weeks ago, I went to visit Italy with Feliciano. It was great. The singing, dancing, and sun made everybody cheerful; I would be if I lived there. When I stopped at a fruit stand, a man gave me all the fruit I wanted for free. Italians are so nice! (Although later, Lovino -You remember him, right? He's Feliciano's big brother, if you don't- told me that the man was scared of me. I don't believe him.)_

_When we got back, it was school and work as usual. Oktoberfest is in a month. You should all come this year. I asked Opa und he said that would be fine._

_I got in a fight with that Bulgarian kid William Barkov yesterday. When I came outside to drive Feliciano home, he had Feli on the ground and was hitting him with a stick. Feliciano was fine. William is not._

_Other than that, not much is happening. I wish you all well._

_-Ludwig._

When Ziayre finished, Gilbert burst out laughing. "What?" Asked Ziayre, obviously confused. Gil shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that when we were all still together, West was always yelling at me for getting in fights. Now it's my turn to yell at him!"

Ziayre shook her head and got up. "After supper. Let's go eat."

By the time we finished supper (An amazing stew made from potatoes and broth) it was already 10:30, time for me to head home. I stood, stuffed from the hearty meal.

"I had better leave. Thank you, Ziayre. See you, Gil." I said, heading for the door. They shouted their goodbyes as I closed the door behind me.

I stood still, listening and watching my house for any signs of movement. If Lars ever caught me over...

The coast was clear, so I kept my head down and scurried across the lawns, heart pounding in time with my running feet. I froze outside my window, waiting for Lars to come outside and drag me inside to another beating.

Lady Luck was on my side. He was asleep. You can hear his snores if you listen close enough, and on a quiet night you can _just_ hear them from the Beilshmitd household.

I threw my window open and boosted myself up, fear lending me strength. Even when Lars wasn't home, it still terrified me to sneak back into the house.

Once I was 'safely' inside, exhaustion hit me like my uncle's fist. Tomorrow was the first day of school, so I had spent the day worrying about _that_. Combined with the usual list of chores Lars always gave me, it had been a taxing day. I stripped down to my boxers and flopped face-first onto my mattress, grateful that this day was done.

_~Tomorrow...~_

"Wake up, slutface!"

My eyes snapped open and I bolted out of bed, fear lancing itself through my blood like a shot of poison. Every day, Lars would wake me up this way. If I didn't get out of bed within 5 seconds or was already out of bed when he came in, he would punch me, right in the gut.

He smirked at me, obviously pleased at how well he had me trained. His eyes ran over me, and the first beginnings of lust appeared in his eyes. "Too bad I'm running late today, otherwise I would _so _fuck you right now, especially after we were disturbed last night. Too bad."

He sighed, but grabbed my wrists and dragged me toward him. He forced his mouth onto mine, moving his lips and moaning. His other hand went down my boxers and massaged my butt, groaning as he did.

Lars pulled away, licking his lips. "Tonight, my pretty little slut. Tonight."

With that, he spun around and ran out of my room. A moment later, I heard the front door slam and the car race out of the driveway.

I bit my lip and found my shirt and pants from yesterday. The shirt was my favourite, a dark grey tee with a sketch of a polar bear on the front. On the back, a maple leaf shape had sewn on by Ziayre in white and red. The pants were nothing special, just black jeans with a small hole in the left knee.

Dressed, I grabbed the Canadian bookbag Gil had gotten me and walked out the door, ready as I'd ever be to face another year of hell.


	3. Hard truth

I panted as I sprinted into the main doors of Earth Circle High School, late for class. I had gotten held up at an intersection when nobody would let me cross. After 5 minutes of waiting, I had finally taken a chance and played Frogger across the intersection, nearly losing three times.

As I ran past the old Spanish room, a hand reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and yanked me into the empty classroom so fast I nearly lost my glasses.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here."

I froze in terror, staring right into the dark brown eyes of Carlos Machado. He cracked his knuckles threateningly, a faint smile tracing itself onto his lips.

"Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. Why are you late for class?" He asked, shaking his head in disappointment. "That's so unlike you."

My mind raced to come up with a response. "Yeah, well, um, I better get going, Carlos. I have Mr. Zwingli for homeroom, and youknowhowitiswhenhegetsmad."

By the time I was done speaking, my words had run together and I was pretty sure Carlos could hear my pounding heart.

Carlos shook his head again, his mocha dreadlocks swishing. "I'm not stupid, Matthew. Your teachers won't notice that you're missing."

He's right. When I came to this school, all the teachers and students remembered me. But somehow, they've managed to completely forget about me to the point of not even seeing me. If the teacher would ask a question and nobody knew the answer but me, said teacher wouldn't even see my arm in the air. Instead, he or she would sigh and turn to the board, droning on and on about stuff I already knew. I wish I was in Gil's grade, not only because I could share more classes with him but then I wouldn't be learning the same thing over and over again.

"Matthew! Pay attention!" Commanded Carlos, swinging his fist toward me. I jumped, startled, and caught his fist with my gut.

I doubled over in pain, tears forming from the agony. Above me, I heard my tormentor laughing as he backed up a few steps.

"Come now, Matthew. It's not THAT bad." he said. I didn't, couldn't, answer him. "Matthew, I'm waiting." He said, shifting his weight onto one foot. I struggled to right myself, groaning quietly.

But not fast enough.

"Too late!" Carlos said in wicked glee. I saw his foot racing toward me, but once again I wasn't even close to fast enough to dodge it.

The appendage caught me between the legs.

I went down to the floor, eyes tightly shut against any tears. Over and over again, his foot slammed into me, each time bringing forth a new wave of pain.

Finally, mercifully, Carlos stopped his attack, laughing. "Matthew," He said, cold mirth obvious in his voice, "You're so generous. Whenever I feel angry, you always volunteer yourself to be my personal punching bag. And so, I thank you most sincerely."

With one last kick Carlos walked off, singing some upbeat-sounding Caribbean song.

I don't know how long I stayed in the darkness of that old Spanish room, tears streaming down my face in silent procession, but sometime later I heard running footsteps. I stood up as fast as I could, drawing in a sharp breath as my newest bruises screamed at me to go back down. Slowly I moved into the shadows, knowing from experience that if I stood stock-still, nobody would see me. Once, I had even stood in the back of a History class, and not the teacher nor the students had even seen me.

I tensed up as the door was flung open and the lights turned on. I dove to the floor behind an old podium, heart beating erratically in my chest. Was it Carlos, back for round two?

"Hey mutti, what time does your class start again?"

"I've told you five times already, Gilbert. Maybe if you got the wurst out of your ears you'd hear better!"

"If you tell me one more time, I swear I'll listen."

"You said that the last three times, you dummkof!"

And so went the duo, arguing back and forth. But that was besides the point. Both the mother and son sounded familiar. Painfully so.

Slowly, I peeked out from behind the podium, dreading what I would see and fearing whom the pair might be.

Gilbert had his back to me, a box of Cheez-Its in his hand and arguing with his mother, whom was bent over a desk, writing something on a paper.

CRAP!

I ducked back behind the podium, mind racing in time with my pulse. No way could I let Ziayre or, more importantly, Gilbert see me. Gil would KILL Carlos, and Ziayre would report him to Mr. Braginski, who was an older man with cold, icy eyes that always made me shiver with their unfeeling, wintery hue. More to the point, he was both the principal and the grandfather of Katya, Natiliya, and Ivan Braginski. Ivan and Natiliya were both quite terrifying, he because of his somewhat childish cruelty to three other students, and she because she was always stalking Ivan. Rumour has it that she always carries a set of knives on her, which honestly would not surprise me. The girl is insane!

I slowly, carefully sat up, every sense on high alert. What should I do? If I moved, Gil and Ziayre would catch me, and it would be game over. But if I just sat here, I would skip all my classes. Not that the teachers would ever notice, but I would like to at least _try._

_**BBBBRRRIIINNNGGG!**_  
Sang out the bell, signalling that it was time to change classes. I breathed a silent sigh of relief and thanked whatever god there was. Now Gilbert and Ziayre would have to leave, and that they did. With Gil leading they filed out of the classroom, arguing about god knows what.

Slowly, mindful of my injuries, I hobbled to the bathroom to clean myself up before the rest of my classes.

_~Time Skip to the End of the Day~_

"Hey Mattie! Wait up!" Yelled a familiar voice from behind me. I couldn't control the smile that began to spread across my face. It was Gil, ready to walk me home. I thought he would've forgotten about our sacred ritual over the summer. Ever since I had moved here, Gil had walked home with me. I treasured this time more than anything else, because it was just me and him for a whole 10 minutes.

Every time, I fantasize about reaching over and taking his hand in mine.

_Gilbert caught up to me, his windswept silver hair falling slightly across his face. He brushed it away and smiled at me, but it wasn't one of his normal I'm-so-awesome grins. This one was... Gentler, and even a tad shy. "Hey Birdie." He said, holding out his arms. I closed my eyes, smiling, and went to him, putting my head against his chest. I could hear the steady, reassuring thump of his heart, which beat only for me. Gil held me close, not caring that other people were staring. He placed a small kiss on top of my head, and whispered "Birdie, I lo-"_

"Hey, Matthew! Wake up!" Gil yelled, tapping my shoulder. I jumped, startled out of my daydream. I bit the inside of my lip, watching as he brushed his hair our of his face, just like he had only moments ago inside my mind.

"How was your day, Gil?" I asked, anxious to move on.

He grinned, the tips of his canines showing. "Can I tell you a secret, and you'll swear to keep it?" He asked, the grin melting off his face.

I nodded, my heart beginning to pound. Was this it? Was he finally going to tell me the three words I longed oh-so-desperately to hear?

"You have to keep this between us, though. I trust you, though. You're my best friend, after all." Gil said, looking serious.

_Best friend...? Gil...?_

"Well, you know that new girl that just moved here, Elizavetta?"

_Girl...? Why are you talking about a girl?_

"I kinda like her. She's smart, funny, and has one hell of a tongue. She managed to even render the awesome me speechless! I really like her, Matt. And she isn't ugly. In fact, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen!" He finished, a slightly nervous smile playing over his lips.

Lips that I would never kiss.  
Lips that would never lovingly whisper my name.  
Lips that would never tell me they love me.

_I really like her, Matt._

Those five words... Those five little words. Suddenly, I hated this Elizavetta girl. How dare she just saunter in and steal _my_ crush's heart? HOW DARE SHE! I loved him first. But now, thanks to her, I would never know what it was like to be wrapped in his arms. I would never know his lips against mine.

I would never know his love.

"Mattie? You ok?" Gil asked, concern replacing that nervous smile. I stood, motionless for a few seconds as the shock wore off.

"No. I'm not ok, Gil." I whispered, tears filling my eyes. Without another word I spun around and sprinted away from the only person I loved, head down to hide my tears. Behind me I could hear Gil start to give chase, but I was faster and managed to get away.

I bolted up the steps to the hellhole known as my house and went straight to my bedroom. I slammed the door, my anger at Elizavetta melting away to sadness.

I buried my face in the mattress, pulling my ragged, old blanket over my head. I sobbed quietly, the unfairness of everything hitting me like a sledgehammer. How? How was it that the one person I love fell for someone else, and in one day to boot?

I heard the doorbell ring, but didn't bother to answer it. It was Gil, I just knew it. I didn't want to see him, ever. No matter what.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes again the first thing I saw was Lars, leering at me from the door. My heart leaped into my throat, this morning rushing back at me.

"Remember my promise from this morning, slut? I'm here to fulfil it."


	4. Hitting the Streets

_** I HAVE NO EXCUSE! I'M SO SORRY FOR MY LAZINESS! But here's an extra-long chapter to somewhat *not even* make up for it... **_

* * *

"Oh," Lars said casually, walking over to where I lie, "And I see that you didn't do your chores. How disappointing."

He grabbed my upper arm and hauled me up, his face suddenly distorting into a mask of rage and hate. He stared at me for a few moments, the fury in his eyes enough to make me cringe in fear.

"You've got such a pretty face." He growled out, narrowing his eyes to slits. I gagged as his putrid breath washed over me, reeking of alcohol despite the fact that it was only 4 in the afternoon.

Without any warning he punched me in the cheek. I heard a sickening crack and suddenly I was on my back, lying on the bed. Lars was over me, teeth bared in a gruesome replica of a smile.

This time, he didn't bother to kiss me or anything. He just flipped me over, pulled down my boxers, and rammed himself in.

I screamed as he did, pain radiating up my entire body. He didn't give me any time to adjust, focusing solely on thrusting his hips as hard and fast as possible.

"Shut up!" He snarled, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking it. I let out a choked whimper of pain, the agony making my eyes water. He didn't have the decency to prep me, and I could tell he only used _just_ enough lube that I wouldn't bleed.

He grabbed my hips and roughly pulled them upward, allowing him to go deeper, groaning as he did so.

"Goddamn Matthew, you're so fucking tight." He said, panting slightly. He slowed his frantic thrusting, then withdrew completely. I froze, shaking slightly. It was humiliating to keep my hips up like a waiting whore, but I knew better than to put them down.

Behind me I heard a low chuckle, then the sound of a camera.

"Look at you, Matthew," Lars said, mock pride colouring his tone. "You're on your stomach, pants around your thighs, with your ass in the air waiting for me to fill it. You have no objections whenever I want you, and you take whatever I tell you to take. How are you not a low-life cum-addicted whore? Shouldn't you be out working the streets?"

He paused for a moment, and I could practically hear the gears in his brain turning.

"Get on your knees." He snapped. I did so, mind whirling. What fresh hell did he think up now?

Lars pointed to his cock, which stood at attention. "Suck." He commanded, taking out his phone.

I grabbed the base of his shaft and took the tip in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. Slowly, I took more and more in my mouth, and when I couldn't fit any more in I allowed the thing to slide down my throat, gagging slightly as I did. I hummed flatly, which elicited a groan from Lars.

I began bobbing my head, trying not to choke. He smelled and tasted rancid, as if he hadn't showered in days. I paused at the tip, nipping it slightly before continuing. I alternated humming and sucking, pausing every so often to bite his tip. I reached up and began to pump whatever I couldn't fit in my mouth, hoping he would just cum already.

Finally, he did. He grabbed my hair and roughly pulled my head away just as he came, splattering my face with his seed. He held my head where it was for a few moments, holding up his phone and taking my picture.

Lars shoved me back on the bed, grinning cruelly.

"I've decided that, because you're such a needy, slutty bitch, you should be bringing in something for it, starting tonight. I'm going to the mall, see if I can buy some lingerie as your new uniform. But if, when I come back, you're not showered with your ass on the couch waiting for me, supper isn't on the table, and this house isn't spotless, then your new job as prostitute will start tonight. You have one hour. Don't disappoint me."

He left my room, and a minute later I heard his car pull out of the driveway. It took a few seconds after that to realize his threat wasn't just hot air.

He was going to sell me on the streets! He was forcing me into prostitution! That was low, even for him.

I got up, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was the line. I wasn't going to allow him to market me like the cheap whore he though I was. I had to tell Ziayre and Gil.

I spied my bookbag in a corner on the floor, the maple leaf insignia facedown. Last year Gilbert had gotten it for my birthday, as I had originally come from a small town in Quebec, Canada.

_ I really like her, Matt._

I couldn't.

But I had to.

I opened my window, then stopped.

I couldn't. Not after what Gil said. He shattered my heart. To him, I was nothing but a friend. I couldn't face him again, especially not after I had ran from him. He probably thought I was a freak. If I told him what I had been putting up with for the past four years, he wouldn't even want to know me. I imagined walking up to him in the hallway, calling his name with a smile.

_He would look at me in disdain, then turn back to his other friend, a Spanish student named Antonio. He would whisper "That's the kid I told you about-Matthew."_

_ Antonio would stare at me, a look of disgust spreading across his features. _

_ "Oh." He would say, turning his back to me. Gil would do the same, but not before one last withering stare. Then they would walk away, leaving me alone to face Carlos and Lars._

No. I couldn't tell him. A broken heart and prostitution was better than no friends at all.

But... Then what could I do? Maybe if I did exactly what Lars had said, I could avoid this sick idea of his and buy some time.

I hightailed it into the kitchen. I would start supper (Spaghetti with hamburger chunks in the sauce) first because it took the longest, then whip through my chores. It was Monday, so I didn't have that many to do. And if it came down to it, I would just rinse the drying cum off my face and get my hair wet like I had showered.

I pulled out a pan and pot, filled the pot with water, and put it on the stovetop. Next, I took the hamburger out of our fridge and put it in the pan, placing it on the burner next to the water pot. I turned on both the burners and quickly broke the hamburger up into smaller hunks using a spatula.

Supper was started, so onto chores. I glanced at the clock, which read 4:25. Lars had left about six minutes ago, leaving me with just 54 minutes to finish supper, do chores, and wash.

It was going to be tight, but I could do it.

I ran to the cleaning supply closet, grabbing a washcloth, broom, a trash bag, and the vacuum. I left the vacuum in the living room, tossed the washcloth in the sink, and leaned the broom against the counter. After checking on my uncle's meal, I swiftly changed the garbage and threw the full bag in the garage. I would take it to the curb tomorrow.

When I came back in the hamburger was hissing, meaning it was time to stir and season it. I did so, checking the time. (4:28)

I was doing better than I had thought.

The water wasn't boiling yet, which was a problem. I turned up the heat and threw in a pinch of salt. I don't know if salt actually worked, but it was worth a shot. I spun around to the sink and turned on the water, sticking my hand under the tap.

When the water was too hot to stand, I yanked my hand away and put the plug in, adding a splash of soap.

I turned back to the stove and stirred the hamburger, stomach growling at scent. The frying meat brought up memories from my childhood, a time long before Lars's name ever crossed my mind.

_Our doorbell chimed multiple times in a row, the normally melodious chime turned into an impatient buzz by its ringer. Papa stopped reading to me, looking to the front foyer._

_ "Who could that be?" He asked, closing the book. I got up from my spot on the luscious carpet, figuring storytime was over for the day. Papa stood, stretched, and walked to the door. I followed, curious. It was the middle of the day, and usually Papa's friends didn't come over until later._

_ I beat Papa to the door and opened it. Alfred and Arthur stood there. The former was bouncing on the spot; the latter standing with a scowl on his face._

_ "Arthur. I should have expected you and your... Son. It's only right that someone as uncouth as yourself should ring in such a rude manner." Papa sniffed, staring at the younger blonde man. Arthur bristled, but before he could deliver a scathing comment that would most likely start a fight, Alfred reached out and grabbed my hand._

_ "Mattie! I just learned this new thing, and you gotta try them! It's something called a 'hamburger,' and they're the best thing in the whole WORLD!" Yelled my overexcited neighbour. He paused, then looked at me with wide, electric blue eyes._

_ "I mean, besides your pancakes. Those are awesome! But come on Mattie, you've just gotta try them!" Alfred shouted, practically pulling me headfirst down our steps. We ran into his yard, where my look-alike pulled something down from their deck table, going on his tip-toes to get said item._

_ He handed me a plate with something that looked suspiciously like one of the scones Arthur was always making on it._

_ "It's probably a little cold now because Dad is really slow." Alfred explained, a slightly solemn expression on his face. Tentatively, I picked the hamburger up off the plate, sniffing it. Alfred began to bounce on his toes, obviously impatient._

_ "Come on Mattie, try it! Please?" He asked, giving me puppy eyes. I sighed, bringing the meat to my lips. I mentally shrugged, opened my mouth, an-_

"Ouch!" I yelped, jumping backward. A splash of hamburger grease had jumped out of the pan, landing on my hand. I shook my head, the stray memory sent from my mind. That was the past; I needed to focus on the present.

I stirred the hamburger again and added noodles the water, which had come to a rolling boil. Supper wouldn't be much longer, and when it was done I would put it in the oven on low heat to keep it warm. Lars didn't like it when his food was cold.

I turned back to the sink, which had filled with hot, sudsy water. I managed to do most of the dishes before I had to finish the spaghetti.

Finishing supper and dishes left me with only 15 minutes left, which mean I had to get my butt moving. I still had to vacuum, sweep, do laundry, and shower.

I grabbed the broom from where I had left it and speed-swept, amazed as I always am at the amount of charred food bits, plastic ties, strands of hair, and mini paper pieces I managed to gather in the dustpan. I swept everyday, so there should never be that much stuff. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if Lars kept a stash of garbage somewhere and spread it around when I was upstairs in my room.

I ran to the living room, fear sending a spike of adrenaline through me when I saw that I had only 10 minutes left to vacuum, do laundry, and shower.

I ran with the cleaner around the living room, missing some small spots in my haste. When that was done, I grabbed the broom from in the kitchen and hightailed it to the supply closet, throwing both it and the vacuum inside.

I sprinted through the house to Lars's room, pausing only to check that my uncle's meal was still fine.

I went into _his_ room, grabbing all his filthy, disgusting clothes off the floor and carrying them to the laundry room. I tried not to gag at the raunchy, sweaty smell that wafted from the clothes in waves, and when all his laundry was in the washing machine I stripped and threw mine in there, too. Even brief contact with that nasty, awful stench made my clothes reek. What does he do, I wondered as I changed, to smell so disgusting?

Suddenly, as I stared the washer, I heard the front door slam open, and a voice that could only belong to my uncle floated into the laundry room:

"Little slut, come out from wherever you areeeee. I have your new uniformmmmm." He sang.

My blood turned into ice, and I froze.

I was out of time.

After a moment of panic, I collected myself. He was waiting.

I ran out into the living room, even though I would like nothing better than to sprint in the other direction.

"Hello, Uncle." I said, stopping five feet away from him. Lars cast a cryptic eye over me, taking in my unwashed appearance.

"You didn't shower." He said, stepping forward and scraping a finger across my cheek. It took all my willpower not to flinch away.

"You'll have to shower before your new job. Nobody's going to want you when you look used." He said.

I nodded, casting my eyes down. "Yes, Uncle." I murmured, anxiety coursing through me. He really meant it. He really was going to market me.

The thought made me sick to my stomach.

"I'm going to eat. You have five minutes clean yourself, whore." He said, shoving me against the wall. I nodded again, and scrambled for the shower.

I stripped again and threw myself into the shower, and in four minutes was cleaned.

When I went back downstairs Lars was waiting on the couch, the only sign that he had eaten was the red sauce smeared around his mouth. Lars had one hell of a stomach.

"Put those on." He ordered, pointing to a bag near the front door. I grabbed said bag and made for my room.

"Stay here." He commanded, standing. I stared, incredulous.

"What, you're shy? Fuck that. Get dressed, slut." Lars said, his dark blue eyes flashing dangerously.

I dropped my own violet eyes and began pulling things out of the bag, my dismay growing with each item. There was:

A short black skirt.

Ankle boots with at least a 4-inch heel.

A lacy red top with slits in the sides.

Fishnet stockings.

A makeup kit.

A pair of dark knee-high lace-up boots.

A pair of dark black skimpy shorts with a kiss mark on the left cheek.

And another top, this one a dark red tight-looking tank top.

"Because it's your first night, you're going to wear the..." Lars trailed off, walking over to where I stood, frozen in shock.

"These boots, the stockings, these shorts and... Thhiiiiii, no this top." He said, trusting the knee boots, stockings, skimpy shorts, and the lacy top at me.

"Change. Now!" He ordered, slapping me across the face. I stumbled a few steps from the impact, righted myself, and changed, face burning from more than the slap.

Lars grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at him, tilting my head around. He bent, picked up the makeup kit, and shoved me onto the couch.

"Gotta doll you up, slut. You'll look better that way." He explained, a sick light to his eyes. Lars grabbed mascara, eyeshadow, and the eyeliner and went to work, painting my eyelids with god knows what.

When he finished, he pulled out a mirror I hadn't noticed and showed me his work, saying something about how he learned makeup application from a woman he used to know. But I wasn't listening.

I looked like a cross between whore and model. My eyes popped, their violet more vivid than I had ever thought possible. But the makeup was heavy and dark, making me look like a washed-up slut.

"MATTHEW!" Lars roared, slamming his hand into the side of my head. I fell over, the impact forcing me down. Lars grabbed my wrist and hauled me up and to the door.

"Time to leave. Now walk." He said, shoving me forward. I stumbled slightly but righted myself, forcing my shaking hands to open the door. I kept my eyes on the car, even thought my heart screamed at me to sprint left, through the yard and straight to Gil's arms.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I got into the car, and Lars backed out and turned right, heading toward the busier parts of town.

I couldn't resist looking back at Gil's house.

_Please come save me..._

* * *

**_Why hello there, my readers. Like I said up top, I have no excuse for my laziness, and so feel free to beat me with your blenders and other household appliances. *This is a joke, I am being facetious. If you go after me, I will sic 2p!Canada on you._**

**Matt: Yeah, don't fuck with her or you'll have me to deal with. *Glares***

_Me: Yeah, don't screw with me!_

**Matt: *Points with his hockey stick* You get your ass moving and write the next damn chapter, or I'll let them beat you and won't do a damn thing about it! Am I clear?**

_Me: ... Yes... (;_;)_

**Matt: I better fucking be. *Leans against a wall and starts smoking***

_Me: Don't smoke, or I'll let you go for Fem!Prussia.*Attempts a glare*_

**Matt: *Takes one last slow drag, then puts out the cigarette***

_Me: Thank you ^_^_

**Matt: Whatever. Fuck you.**

Because I am pathetic and have no life nor companions, (Hence 2p!Canada) I could go on like that forever. But alas, I must go. So Au Revoir, À plus tard, and I adore you all!

_Maihai~_


End file.
